


The Age of Death

by acesquared



Category: Original Work
Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Other, graphic battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesquared/pseuds/acesquared
Summary: A short stand-alone drabble set in an unspecified medieval battle setting (medieval fantasy implied but not explicit)





	The Age of Death

Clashing swords. Bellowing horses. The screams of dying men. This is what I hear when I awake from my stupor. Beside me my friend Elindor is yelling at me, but I can’t hear what he is saying. With a pained groan, I get to my feet, holding my head.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Prince Faridorn of Mylantia and at present we are fighting for our lives against the race of fiendish beasts known as the Kalicor. They are loathsome creatures with frightening red eyes that burn like coals and are in possession of a set of razor sharp teeth and talon-like claws. Their way of fighting is of a brutish nature. They rush at their opponents and club them about the head, as I assume has happened to myself.

I look around woozily and see my men getting cut down by the dozens. It appears that the Kalicor hordes fell on us as we were riding from our glorious capital city of Eryndas to the sister city Palidas. My company and I number upwards of 500 men, yet now less than a quarter of that number still stands. Man has been torn from saddle of beast and horses have been shot down by their barbed arrows.

I do not know how Elindor managed to get me from saddle, as I see that my steed Paendas is now laying in the carnage and surely died a most painful death, yet I do not remember falling from my saddle before my short sleep. Nonetheless, my friend is now dragging me away from the sounds of clattering swords and armor. I try to protest, to say that my men need me. I manage to make out the words “No use” and “They are dead men” as he pulls me away from them. Only us two have cleared the battle and are running across the open plain with only our two legs to make our escape with. In the fray it seems that I have lost even my most prized blade, Heartfire. Surely my father will forgive me the loss of it over the loss of my own life. I say something to this effect in my dazed state as we proceed into the foothills. We have left the heinous enemy behind us, but for how long, I do not know.

At length, my friend and I arrive back at the gates of our capitol, myself leaning heavily against my friend. Judging by the state of my hair and armor, I would guess that my weakness is due to a excessive amount of bleeding originating from a head wound. At the gates we are met by a detachments of soldiers who have been pre-informed of the situation. I must have passed out promptly upon entering the city, as I do not remember any events that took place after that moment.

The next time I open my eyes, I am laid up in my richly decorated room with many a servant attending my condition and my dear friend Elindor standing dutifully by my side. When I make my wakefulness known, he is quick to turn to me, his sharp green eyes filled with concern for my present state.

“My friend, do not despair so,” I implore him. “We are both alive. That is what matters. And praise the Guardian of the Light for keeping it so.” I smile at him as he repeats my devotion and bows his head. Briefly, we discuss the state of our forces after the attack. As I feared, we two were the only survivors of the attack. This fact greatly disturbs me, but alas, it is as the Guardian has designed, so there must be some purpose. “Where is my father? I wish to speak to him.” When he does not answer me after a moment, I repeat my question, my tone more firm this time. The sadness in his eyes speaks to my imaginations more than any words could and immediately I am struggling to sit up. Before anyone can stop me, I have donned my robe and crossed the room, wrenching open the door and stalking down the hall to the imperial chambers of my lord father, King Tidus of Mylantia. Stumbling into the room, I am met with the most sorrowful sight that my young eyes have ever beheld. My father’s chambers, once outfitted with the rich red and gold colors of our kingdom are now draped in somber greys and blacks. Crying out, I fall to my knees in utter distress. My father – my king – is dead. “To what fate did he fall?” I ask my friend as his tall frame appears in the grand doorway behind me.

“It would seem,” he starts reservedly, “that even as we were being laid on by the Kalicor, another detachment of foes was let into the keep by a most devious traitor. I am sorry, my friend. While the Guardian’s eyes were protecting your person, He was blind to the murder of your dear father, our lord.”

I can feel the anger vibrating in my soul as I open my mouth to speak next. “I will not rest until this traitor is found and every last Kalicor dog responsible for this has been hunted down and slain. I swear to this upon the memory of my father, shall I never return to these halls with honor until this pledge is fulfilled.”

There is a short pause before my friend speaks again. “Do you make this pledge to your God, my lord?”

I get to my feet and look around the room before turning to him. “I have no god from this day forward, my friend. The battlefield is my temple and death dealing is my practice. From this day until the death of my last foe, I am not a man, but an avenger.”

Elindor bows his head and falls to his knee, drawing his sword to place before me. “My vow is as yours, my lord. From this day to my last, I shall be your sword in ever battle you may enter. If Death is your god, and you the prophet of that dark force, then may I be your first disciple.”

And so, that is how I became the first of Death’s angels, roving among the land of the living and visiting upon all evil men the swift hand of justice. Where the Guardian of Light spared me and killed my father, He birthed a new age of Man. The age of Death.


End file.
